


In the Sound of Silence

by Cieltee



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion Needs a Hug, M/M, Magic, Mute Jaskier | Dandelion, Weird Plot Shit, no beta we die like witchers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:08:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23658118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cieltee/pseuds/Cieltee
Summary: Jaskier is a bard. Bards need a voice. With no voice, they cannot sing, cannot spin tales with their melodies and ballads. But Jaskier, he has no voice. Not without his Witcher.An AU where Jaskier loses his voice due to a curse Geralt accidentally sprung on him when they parted ways after the dragon hunt. Geralt almost forgets about Jaskier until he began hearing about how the bard lost his voice; however, the White Wolf believed time and time again that these rumors are retelling of the djinn accident. Oh, how wrong he realizes he truly is.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 52
Kudos: 271





	1. Chapter 1

Grief was an interesting thing for Jaskier to go through, that night following the dragon hunt. If he can really call it that. More like, 'disastrous mountain climb to the end of the best thing that has ever happened to him.' Not that it matters. Long, elaborate titles aren't necessarily useful now. Just like himself, so he believed. 

Denial was the worst part, probably by how much it plagued him in the beginning. There was just no way Geralt meant what he said. And you know, he actually believed that, that Geralt was just in another one of his tiffs and needed some alone time like always. It was fine, Jaskier remembered telling himself, everything is fine. But after a few hours, a few drinks… A few moments of playing Geralt's words over and over in his head, Jaskier found it harder and harder to believe. But, clearly, he knew just what he needed when his feelings started to fly south for the winter:

"Ladies and gentlemen, drinks on me! Let's rid ourselves of any memory of that wretched beast," he shouted, hoisting himself up onto a table in the corner closest to the bar. 

Puzzled looks and a gross silence drew over the crowd. A man close to him looked up and asked after a disgusting belch," Which one, the dragon or the Witcher?"

A few chuckles sounded off about the tavern, precisely when anger kicked in during Jaskier's grief. The bard stooped down to pluck up the nearest pint of ale afore he addressed his current audience with a smug grin," Who the fuck cares, their both gone."

It took the patrons of the tavern a moment before they gave mutual shrugs and then loud cheers. Why should they care, they get free booze out of this. Was it confusing, hearing Jaskier talk so lowly of Geralt, his presumed friend or at least muse? Yeah, but again, free booze. 

Whilst the bartenders passed out drinks as quick as they were able, especially in between tapping into new kegs when old ones ran dry, Jaskier just mused to himself with his stolen drink in hand, hopping down from his perch. He felt elated, which was weird since he just bashed his friend, but the longer he considered it, really thought about it… He found he couldn't really care less. He found that maybe, just maybe, he was done. Done being harassed by monsters, beaten by freaks, and left all the freaking fuck alone whilst Geralt did fuck all. Done with being the bard that followed the White Wolf like a milk hungry pup. Done singing 'Toss a Coin' when in the end, he could care less if Geralt got a single shilling more than he already did. 

Done being the best damned friend he could and still be treated like the world's lowest worm. 

Jaskier barked at the room, "Fuck the dragon, and fuck the Witcher!" The cheers never sounded greater, a sweet melody in his ears as he chugged down his ale. It was shit ale, but he was too frustrated to care. 

\---

Bargaining. That was a bitch to deal with. May have been the roaring headache Jaskier was dealing with as he tried to order some hot breakfast to nurse himself back to prime bardliness the following morning. Could also be related to the shitty mess he found himself in whilst making that order. 

"You haven't the money, bard. You spent it all on me kegs las' night," said the bartender evenly, washing out a cup. Wouldn't surprise Jaskier if it was from the aforementioned night's spending. 

"No, no, I have… Fuck, I have coin. I'm just waiting for Geralt to come back from his descent down that decrepit mountain, now please give me something to eat or drink," Jaskier muttered, grinding the heels of his hands into his face. 

"What, you mean the Witcher? He left town last night."

Oh the look on Jaskier's face would speak volumes, if he just knew how priceless it was. He lowered his hands slowly, giving the bartender a steady look. "I'm terribly sorry, but did you just say my Witcher left…?" 

"What are you, deaf?" the bartender sneered, "He left. Gone. And you should go too, before you overstay your welcome, kid."

Jaskier gave an offended gasp, mouth gaping as he gestured at the bartender, "I am not a kid! I'm fucking thirty years--" 

He suddenly blanched. "Oh gods… I'm thirty years old. I' ve been following that asshole for twenty-two years, oh my gods! What have I been doing with my life?!"

Without another word to the bartender, Jaskier stood up abruptly from the bar and headed for the front of the tavern, knocking into some individuals as he went. He ignored the shouts, the curses thrown his way, the literal Hunk of what he could only hope was a slice of ham and not a stinking used hand cloth as he exited the tavern. 

_Twenty-two years. I've spent twenty-two fucking years following Geralt, being treated like crap. Well, not completely, there was the djinn incident-- twenty-two years!_ The bard had to stop in the midst of his existential crisis to take a seat. Was it in the middle of the road, yes. Was he at risk of getting floored by any cart or group of individuals that came his way? Well, yes, but he's heard of worse deaths. Escaped many of them, really. 

"I can't believe…" he said softly, aghast and dumbfounded with this revelation. He spent so long with Geralt, whether directly or indirectly. And it was only now that he was realizing just how long… 

And Geralt was gone. 

Depression. Jaskier has had his fair share of it, he really has, but this bout. This was different. 

This time he had someone he cared for, someone he looked towards and admired beyond words, someone he… 

He had Geralt. Had had Geralt.

And now, Geralt was gone, and Jaskier was all alone. So very alone. 

He wondered when the first tear fell. He wasn't aware he was actually so torn up about this until his eyes and cheeks burned with the sting of salt, his nose stuffy and his clothes waterlogged with tears, spit, and disgusting nose goo. 

Depression was quick. Bargaining had been quicker, but depression hit harder despite its brevity. Or was it really, actually brief? Perhaps not, if his body quaking sobs had anything to say about it. 

Jaskier felt sick aside from the fact he was crying beyond control and had a raging hangover on top of it. No, he felt sick because grief hurts, even when you get to the acceptance stage. 

\---

Townsfolk long questioned how much more the bard would cry. How much more people would have to painstakingly skirt around his crumpled form in the middle of the road. There were few who considered moving him, only to be talked out of it by peers who recognized him as the Witcher's bard. It was silently but unanimously agreed that the bard would move on his own eventually, either by his Witcher fetching him or by his own personal means, and that it would be best to leave him be. 

Perhaps if someone, even if briefly, were to make contact with him they would notice how there was more to him than back shaking sobs and snot bubbles. Perhaps if they did check on him, they would notice that while ugly those sobs were, they were strange in nature. 

Perhaps someone would notice that Jaskier had no voice.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt finds himself thinking of Jaskier. He's not entirely sure why, though one of the bard's baths would be nice tight about now.

_Geralt._

The Witcher hummed very softly in his sleep, as a voice called his name. It sounded familiar, but hard to place. 

_Geralt._

When it called again, faces flashed behind his closed lids, slowly so he could see them with such clarity that he almost believed he wasn't dreaming. 

Renfri. Borsch. Vea and Tea. Triss. Yennefer. 

_Fuck-! Geralt!_

Jaskier. He distinctively remembered Jaskier's tone of voice when the bard overheard the elf saying that he very well could die from the sudden affliction of his throat. Geralt recalled how he gripped the bard's shoulder, saying that 'we won't let that happen.' 

It was a relief when he saw Jaskier up and walking sometime later, talking even. Had he missed his talking that much? 

_GERALT!_

The White Wolf sat up, startled awake. His hand grasped his sword, having kept it close to his bed roll. Looking around the rather empty campsite, he slowly relaxed. Roach huffed at him, but didn't seem too bothered by the Witcher suddenly waking up. 

Gazing up at the sky, Geralt could only puff out a sigh- was probably the middle of the night. Meaning that he had only been asleep for a few hours, maybe even less. He laid back and released his grip on his silver sword, throwing the same arm over his eyes in a desperate attempt to will himself back to sleep. Alas, he was too wide awake, though he could not grasp as to why. 

_That voice. It sounded like Jaskier. But also… Hmm._ Puzzled by his own thoughts, Geralt tried to piece together a list of reasons as to why, why was he thinking of that bard's voice? Had he missed him? 

He grunted, dismissing the idea of him missing Jaskier. _Probably just my mind dwelling on memories for the sake of memories. Just another part of sleep._

It would later be viewed as a shame that he couldn't find himself falling back to sleep. 

\---

Roach pawed at the ground when they stopped at a crossroad. One route would take them towards Cintra, the other towards some backwater town that Geralt could honestly care less about. Go figure that would also be the same place he could find another contract, if not more. 

Clicking his tongue, Geralt goaded Roach towards the direction of the backwater town, keeping the pace light. He wasn't in any hurry, why push his faithful steed? 

It took far less time to reach the town than he expected, which left him feeling both disappointed but also thankful. If things bottom up, then he can easily turn back the way he came and head off towards Cintra. It also meant the town wasn't as backwater as he imagined, which could be a sign of better tidings as far as food and bed. More so the former than the latter, if he could have a pick of either. 

Geralt dismounted once they drew close to an inn with a small stable. An ostler came over, just a wee scrap of a lad, and took his horse over to one of the stalls with nary a word. Geralt hummed in thanks before heading into the inn proper. 

It was quiet, but in a relaxed, midmorning kind of way. A handful of people were hanging about in the middle having a late breakfast while the innkeeper swept around the large hearth towards the far wall. A soft melody of lute strings danced in the air, reminding Geralt briefly of Jaskier. He didn't try to find the owner of the lute music, instead focusing his attention on the innkeeper. 

She regarded Jim when he took a step or two closer, her hands stilling her broom so she could lean on it like a tall cane. "Witcher."

"Innkeeper," he grunted in reply. 

"Looking for a monster or room?" 

"Why not both?" 

She stared at him steadily, clenching and uncle ching her fingers along the broom in thought. Humming to herself, she instructed him to wait there and then left, heading over towards the kitchens. Geralt watched her go, quietly taking in his surroundings. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted the lute player-- they looked shockingly like Jaskier. However, when Geralt turned to look at them, he realized that not only was the lute player not Jaskier, but they were also very much a lady and had red, flowing long hair instead of a mop of silky brown. The lute player strummed slowly under his gaze before coming to an awkward stop. He looked away before things could get too awkward. 

When the innkeeper returned, she was accompanied by a young boy, no doubt her kid or someone else's who was local. "This 'ere is Shawn. Tell mistah Witcher what you saw, lad." 

Geralt tried to keep a calm, possibly not as scary looking face as he looked to the boy. Shawn swallowed, looking at the ground, "I saws, uh… I saws a monstah, sir. In the fields, by me ma's farm."

"What kind of monster?" 

The boy flinched at Geralt's voice, but replied nonetheless, "Cockatrice, sir… Only the crest an' tail. Ma said I'd be dead if I saw any mo' than that, sir."

The Witcher hummed. Cockatrices weren't common in these parts, most likely one left loose by a witch or smuggled in by unknowing brigands. "I see. And you wish for me to kill your monster?" 

The innkeeper and boy nodded, the woman placing a hand on Shawn's shoulder. "Shawn can take you to his farm. They're good people, can house you there while you hunt the beast."

Sounded almost too good to pass up. Geralt regarded the innkeeper for a bit before giving another hum. Apparently that was good enough for boy and woman, as Shawn gestured for Geralt to follow him. They left the inn, Geralt opting to leave Roach in the stable just in case trouble stirred but he took his saddlebag with him. It had his potions after all.

The farm in question was on the far side of the town, close to the river that flowed nearby. Immediately, Geralt smelled traces of the cockatrice amidst the small yard toward the front of the farm, but they were hours old. Shawn hurried into his house to explain the situation to his mother, who directed Geralt to wash up first before entering her home- 'bad influences cling to Witchers, and I would be of peaceful mind if you at least dashed a bucket of water about yourself, thank you kindly.' It wasn't the strangest request, but definitely not one he expected. 

\---

Cockatrices were wicked beasts. But this one was thankfully old and stupid. Geralt made quick work of it just after nightfall, having had cornered it in the back corner of the farm. Though it was easily dispatched, sadly, Geralt was denied entry to the farm house. He was very understanding about the situation: even he wouldn't want to be housed under the same roof as someone covered in rotten feathers and cockatrice musk. Twas a smell worse than sulfur.

As he laid out in the tool shed, the one place he was permitted since the boy's mother said it was hardly used anymore, Geralt found himself recalling times where he wouldn't be left foul and smelly after a successful monster hunt. Partially because he had a room in an inn with a bath he could have drawn up, partially because he could always jump into a lake or stream. But he dwelt more on those times in the inns where he had Jaskier with him. 

Did he always feel more relaxed with the bard pampering him in the tub? Or was it just those fancy bath additions Jaskier would sprinkle in? 

It was weird, thinking about it all. Weirder still that Geralt found himself oddly falling in a dreamless sleep whilst he pondered about these thoughts of baths and Jaskier. 

Did he really miss him?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading thus far! I'm so glad you like this.
> 
> I'm afraid that I'm not extremely versed in what is Canon in the Witcher universe except for what has appeared in the show on Netflix, but I'll try not to fudge it up. 
> 
> Enjoy!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt has some more universal hints that he might be missing his bard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter! Sorry, but I wanted to jump back to Jaskier. Hope this is OK!

A scream shattered the blissful silence of the early morning. Geralt paused in his sword sharpening, his whetstone heavy in his hand. The echoes of the scream still clung to the air, growing steadily fainter with each passing moment. With little to no effort, the White Wolf could hear tones of femininity, no doubt meaning the scream came from a woman. He stayed motionless, his breathing slow and even as he listened for any more screams. 

For a time, there were none. He found himself wondering if he had possibly heard the echoing calls of a banshee or a possible murder; the latter was just as sad as the first, but came with less potential fights. 

As a handful of moments passed by, Geralt started to think it was more than likely that it was a banshee, or a quickly performed murder, neither of which really concerning him. He was about to start up his bladework once more when a second scream shattered the silence again. He was up on his feet this time- that scream bordered on the line of far too familiar, yet also different. This was neither a banshee nor a murder, least he had a good damn feeling it wasn't. 

Geralt felt himself moving, drawing up the familiar sign for Quen as he moved into the direction of the screams. Keeping to the trees, he kept his footfalls light and slow, almost like he was tiptoeing through the vegetation. Silence reigned supreme again, save for the wisps his attuned ears caught: grunting, shuffling, and the distinct sound of disgusting slurping. 

_Bruxa… one feeding,_ he noted as he listened intently. Part of him rather hoped that there would be more than one, mostly because of how quick the cockatrice had been dispatched a week prior. However, as he listened and smelled the air, he could only detect the one. _Well, at least it's something._

The Bruxa had not noticed him as Geralt approached, the beastly womanoid too focused on the dying prey she had landed. It looked to be a pair of travelers, maybe even stupid nobles who slipped from any escorts they had and thought it a good idea to truss about the woods. He didn't really sympathize with them, just with the possible lost contract he could have gained from them. Guess he could find their kin and reap some form of benefit. 

Moving carefully, Geralt rounded the right side of the Bruxa, keeping an eye on her and an ear out for anything else. Judging by how grossly she was interested in her prey, he assumed she had not fed in some time. It would make this process all the easier-

If not for the glimpse of the young man Geralt caught. 

Ice flooded his veins as Geralt gazed at the dying man, his breath caught in his throat. The Mop of brown hair. The soft mouth just slightly ajar. The cornflower blue garb. 

The world stopped, standing still. 

_Jaskier._

And then it crashed back to him when the man opened his eyes- puke green with flecks of shit brown. And that awful voice when the fellow screamed for help. 

"Fuck," Geralt grumbled as the Bruxa whipped around, hissing at him. "Shut it, ugly."

\---

The man wasn't even a noble, Geralt would come to find, but the abandoned goods from his very deceased attacker and fiancée were satisfying enough as a means of thanking the White Wolf. After dropping the sad, haggard sap off at the nearest inn, Geralt headed immediately to the closest brothel within the ramshackled city he had found himself in. It wasn't much, but it would do for what parts of him wanted. 

The women were generous, only prying a little bit more than they actually would. They also talked, which was another reason he indulged in these places. 

"Mmm, I bet you miss that old bard of yours. Haven't heard him in a while-- did the wolf finally catch Jaskier's tongue?" mused the current lass that was attempting to amuse him. Geralt almost hummed, but felt a tad bit subdued. He blamed the wine. 

"I have no idea what you are talking about," he coaxed instead, perking up a brow at the lady. She had nice hips. Soft, but malleable. 

"Oh? Silent treatment for the silent treatment? Must be still mad about it," the woman cooed, leaning against him like a feline in human skin, all lithe and curved. "But I can fix some of that."

Geralt only gave a small twitch of his lips to encourage her to 'fix some of that' to her heart's desire. 

\---

"Witcher, where's tha' bard o' yours? I gots the feelin' he owes me money, and I dun like peoples owing me money," some tavern drunk slurred at Geralt, squinting at him with an ugly look on his mug. Actually, that might just be how he normally looked. 

"He's not my bard and not my concern," Geralt said dismissively, turning away from the drunk to go and leave. The bastard made the mistake of clapping his hand on the White Wolf's shoulder, stopping him from leaving. _Bloody fantastic._

"Your bard owes me, Witcher. Now, either he pays up or you does, and I dun see 'em so pay up, pup." 

Geralt quietly looked over his shoulder, golden eyes narrowed at the man. He gave a dismissive hum and shrugged the man's hand from his shoulder. "Like I said, not my bard. If I give you coin, will you leave me alone?" 

"The whole' mount, maybe."

"Hm… How much?" 

"Te… Twenty ducat," the man said, suddenly looking--and smelling-- like a liar. 

"How. Much." Geralt's eyes held a fire within them, one that was cold as ice. His hand nearest the man clenched, his leather gloves creaking. 

The man gulped, taking a step back. "Ten oren. S-swear it sir, is only ten oren."

The White Wolf gave a satisfied hum and fished out the coins. Before handing it to the drunk, he fixed him with a careful gaze, "When about did you see Jaskier last?" 

"Two weeks ago. In the next town o'er."

"Hm." Geralt handed the man his coins and turned away, taking his leave as he had intended before he had been so rudely interrupted. 

_Two weeks. Small world._


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trouble always comes along when it is least expected, especially for unsuspecting bards. Poor Jaskier, he certainly could use a break.

_Everything will be fine, this is just… Just my throat being weird. I'm sure it'll pass in no time!_ Jaskier recalled thinking when he had realized he couldn't speak. It was weird to not be able to talk, yet still be able to yawn or gasp. Even his humming was successful, but he couldn't for the life of him manage to utter a single word. He dumbly believed that he merely caught some strange cold, an infection that perhaps only afflicted his vocal chords. Yet no fever came, nor did he feel unwell. 

Communicating with others was a challenge. Jaskier can count on both hands many times over how many people had asked him 'to just spit it out,' perhaps more to his own frustration than his own. Even relying on written speech was damn near impossible, seeing how not everyone was literate in the world. He supposed his one comfort was that he could still play his music, even if it left him feeling hollow inside without being able to sing the words that went to lute's strumming chords.

And go figure, there were plenty of people who apparently had to remind him of debts or general beef they had with him during this trying time. His earnest head shakes and pleading gestures earned him no mercy as many either spat harsh words at him, or worse, beat him black and blue before tossing him into a pile of refuse. The latter honestly happened more often than not. But at least no one had tried to kill him.

Yet.

\---

After two weeks of silence, Jaskier was able to settle in a ramshackle little inn, located in the middle of gods-know-where. The innkeeper, bless her heart, had taken pity on his condition and let him stay in exchange of some household work and of course his music. Any tips he made would be split 60-40, him taking the smaller amount and she the larger. It wasn't much, but he wasn't left sniffling in a puddle of mud. 

Of course, it was also a temporary stay. The innkeeper could only agree to let him stay during the festival season, which was probably just a month long at most. He had that small of a time frame to try and figure things out, and try and scrounge up what coin he can. 

_I miss Geralt…_ Jaskier found himself thinking, although it was very half heartedly. In truth, he missed how Geralt could do all the brunt of the talking, getting his way with relative ease. If you can call glaring and grumpy hums talking. Still, the bard couldn't help but miss those grumbles and glares when it came to finding his room and board, or really when he's all alone in general; something about those features of Geralt just made him feel safe. 

"Oi! I know you!" a voice shouted across the room. 

Jaskier and a handful of individuals looked at the owner of the shout, though it was the bard who ended up giving a cringe. He recognized the man shouting, and quickly made his way towards the safety of his room. 

He was just about there when a couple of hands grabbed fistfuls of his shirt and hauled him backwards. His voiceless mouthing of 'gentlemen' and 'let me go' were ignored as he was dragged up to the man that had shouted. 

"I knew it was you, Jasper-" 

"Jaskier," corrected one of the men quietly. 

"Jaskier! You owe me, Jaskier, and I intend to get what I'm owed."

Jaskier gave a look of confusion-- semi-genuine but also semi-mocking as he somewhat recognized the man but also didn't understand what the bloody hell he was going on about. Shame he couldn't ask him what he meant directly, but his confused look seemed to speak plenty. 

The man stooped to his level, a nasty sneer on his face. "You took my wife to bed, ya pig. And I had to clean up the mess you made. You slimy bastard, think you can get into any skirt that tickles your fancy, jus' cause you play a little tune on that fancy box of strings of yours?" 

_Oh, it's coming back now. Yep… the merchant from Sodden. The lovely lady and her garter- oh, I'm in trouble,_ thought the bard, frowning a little as his shortcomings dawned on him. Shame the rest of him didn't dawn on him more as he tried to say something, anything. Of course, he couldn't.

The man didn't care for his useless mouth flapping; in fact, he didn't care for Jaskier at all and made it very clear by punching him firmly in the gut. His pathetic wheeze as the wind was knocked out of him seemed satisfying to the angry man as he gestured for his gang of men to join in the bustle. Jaskier was tossed between the group, receiving glancing blows all over his body. A fist to his face lit up his nerves like wildfire, especially around his cheek. Another across his jaw brought forth a grunt of pain and dare he say a familiar tang of metal in his mouth… Ah, blood. The innkeeper yelled at the men to shove off, but they just responded to that by throwing the poor bard across the room. A few ladies gave a shriek as he crashed into the barstools by the bar, banging his head against the counter. The chorus of crude laughter that slowly faded away was the only thing to tell Jaskier that he would be left alone for now. That, or it was his quiet slip into oblivion, slumped against the broken remains of a barstool that sadly met its end thanks to his unfortunate happenings. 

Probably that. 

\---

Oblivion was strangely dark. Not in a sad, despairing way, but just in general. It was very, very dark. And numbing. Almost like when you fall asleep in the tub. 

"Jaskier?" called a voice. It sounded familiar, and he couldn't tell why. 

"Jaskier… Wake up…"

He shook his head, which ached incredibly. Was his head supposed to ache in the dark? It never did before-- or maybe it had and he just never thought about it. He also never remembered the dark having any feeling of a damp cloth being pressed to his cheek or a hand dragging his hair out of his face. No, no he really didn't think the dark did those things, but it was pleasant. 

"Jaskier…" said the voice again, a familiar gruffness enveloping him. It was a shame the bard couldn't place it, nor he couldn't do anything about it as he sunk further into the darkness. Maybe he can apologize to the voice when he feels better. 

Geralt just hummed to himself, looking at the passed out bard with a worried expression. Jaskier's left cheek had been split and so had his lip. His nose had been bloodied and when he had pulled his doublet and undershirt off so he could have them cleaned, he saw the many bruises left peppered on his chest and sides. The White Wolf was particularly worried about the deep purple bruise that stretched the entire length of Jaskier's ribs. They were no doubt deeply bruised--Geralt hoped they weren't broken. 

With a heavy sigh, Geralt set aside the damp cloth and pulled up the blankets, covering the bruised and battered bard. What matters right now was that he let Jaskier sleep-- everything else can be figured out later when the bard had a chance to rest and heal. Maybe then he could get to the bottom of this strange feeling of…wanting to stay by his side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was tossing this chapter around in my head for a while, hence the reason why it took so long to write. Just couldn't get the scenes right.
> 
> Hope y'all enjoy.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tending to poor Jaskier.

Geralt woke in the early hours, though not from a long night of well rest. He had woken up often, either to check on his battered up bard or because his own sleep had been so fretful. Over and over, each time he had felt even remotely slipping into a deep sleep, he would be met with memories of Jaskier. 

_Geralt! Geralt, help! Help!_

The run in with the rare sylvan beast. Geralt recalled how scared Jaskier had gotten when the large creature had risen from the thicket, standing almost as tall as the White Wolf when he rode upon Roach. Shame it was slain by that idiot knight Yennefer traveled with. 

_Geralt? Where are you going? Don't leave me…_

Their first adventure, just before the satyr had knocked Jaskier unconscious. A funny moment, that, even if there had been some unease in the bard’s voice. Funnier still when the elves broke his lute; Geralt somewhat wished he could have watched Jaskier’s face when they did, even if he knew that he would have done what he could to make the bard feel better. He did get a new lute, after all, and the old one sucked anyways.

_Geralt…_

Reflecting on his dreams, Geralt realized that he felt some comradery with the bard. Had he actually enjoyed the little frights Jaskier had towards things that weren’t actually frightening? His jumpiness, his unease to the strange when in other instances he could be rather brave? How was it that silly bard could stand two to two with Yennefer, trading insults and venomous glares with the witch that could easily reduce him to ash or banish him to the ends of the world… and yet, couldn’t stand to be left on his own for a scant moment when it came to unfamiliar territory?

It was almost like Jaskier felt comfort in being by Geralt’s side, something the Witcher would never believe. He almost laughed just considering it. 

Shifting fabric behind him alerted Geralt to his bard- no, _the bard_ waking up. Geralt rose from his seat near the room’s fireplace, which had been barely smouldering after a night of burning away the logs the Witcher had left in the hearth. As he approached Jaskier, he made a quick note of how haggard the poor bard appeared as the bruises along his face had deepened in a terrible shade of purple and green. The blankets still covered the bard’s chest, but judging how he winced as he began to stir, the bruises there no doubt hurt like a donkey kick. At least a scab had begun to form on the split of Jaskier’s cheek and lip, and the swelling of both seemed to be going down. 

Geralt crossed his arms as he peered down at the bard, a neutral look on his face. Jaskier drew in a small breath, releasing it with a pained hiss of air before peeking open an eye. The bard seemed to be taking in his surroundings before letting his gaze settle on Geralt. He mouthed something and closed his eyes tightly, a grimace on his face.

“Best you don’t speak, or if you must, then don’t speak too much. I’m not the best at judging others injuries, but I would say you have a broken rib, maybe two,” said Geralt after a moment. 

Jaskier gave a small nod, acknowledging the Witcher’s words. His eyes remained closed, lips pressed tightly together.

Geralt watched him for a few moments, though he wasn’t sure why. Was he expecting Jaskier to argue? To talk to him? He wasn’t sure. But either way, it was nice that the bard was listening to him for once. _He probably hurts too much to see any reason to object. Good. He’ll be able to rest and heal… Probably._

“I’ll go fetch us some supplies. Food, too. You stay here,” the Witcher said, turning away to head towards the door- only to be stopped by a hand grasping his arm and a pained hiss. Looking down, he saw Jaskier’s hand gripping so tightly to his arm that his knuckles turned white, though that could be from the bout of pain that was no doubt shooting through his system from moving so quickly. Looking from the bard’s hand to his face, the expression Jaskier had only confirmed this notion, but something else was drawing Geralt’s attention. Jaskier’s mouth moved, but no words came out… It looked like he was trying to say ‘thank you.’ 

Geralt hummed, reaching over with his free hand to cover the bard’s grasping one. “Don’t mention it.” 

It must have been good enough of a response for Jaskier, since the bard gave a small nod and let him go, his hand dropping to the bed after a moment. Geralt stayed a moment longer, though not exactly sure as to why, before leaving the room. Jaskier waited until he heard the door open then close, his Witcher’s heavy footsteps receding, before he finally let out a choked sob. 

_He’s back… And I still can’t say a damn thing. As if him coming back was going to fix whatever the fuck is happening to me,_ he thought, tears running down his face. He didn’t even acknowledge the sting of his cheek or lip, the latter having had broken open again, as he sobbed quietly. _Damn it, Geralt… Why couldn’t you have stayed away? Maybe then you wouldn’t have had to see me like this…_

\---

It would be many hours later before Jaskier would hear the familiar footfalls approaching the room and then for the door to open. He had long since stopped crying, so any evidence of his tears were gone. He only knew it had been hours because of the changing angle of the sunlight that filtered into the room from a single window near the bed, and he had heard distant bells ringing from what he assumed was a church. As it was, the light seeping in the window said it was sometime in the evening.

Geralt wasn’t alone, Jaskier noticed, as a woman who was probably in her early forties if he were to guess, followed behind the towering man with an armful of pouches and linens. Geralt went to the table in the corner of the room, setting down an armful of what Jaskier only assumed to be rations or Witcher-related goods before joining the woman at Jaskier’s side. 

“Jaskier, this is Ellana; Ellana, my stupid bard Jaskier,” Geralt said, introducing the two to each other. Ellana gave a little bob, most likely her attempt at a curtsey with her arms still loaded; Jaskier only gave a small smile and nod. “Ellana is a nurse, she’s going to address your injuries. Try not to seduce her, she’s got a job to do, Jaskier.”

_I’m too battered to even consider it,_ the bard thought, but gave a nod to acknowledge Geralt’s words. With a grunt, the Witcher went over to the chair by the fireplace to brood- no, to stay out of the way, so the nurse could set about her work. It was a slow process, as Jaskier could barely move his upper half without his face scrunching up in agony as pain flared along his ribs. Ellana let him rest on his good side for a few moments while she readied a soothing balm for the massive bruise she found; Jaskier also had to stick mint leaves in his mouth and bite a piece of leather strip so Ellana could examine his injury properly.

“His rib is not broken, but the bruising is deep,” the nurse said, more so explaining things to Geralt than Jaskier as she used her fingers to apply a decent layer of the balm to Jaskier’s side- he struggled not to whimper from the sparks of pain, as well as the immediate relief that was seeping into his skin. “I suspect he will recover enough in a couple of days for travel, but he’ll need this balm for a week or two to keep the pain at bay. Also, a bandage to make sure the swelling won’t affect his ribs.”

“When will he be able to resume his usual bard antics?” asked Geralt, nodding towards Jaskier’s lute- oh, by the gods, Jaskier had just noticed the blessed instrument leaning against the wall.

“By tomorrow, if he keeps still and doesn’t jerk his arms about. The muscles from his shoulders flow into his ribs, so they need to have enough rest as well. If you want to keep him quiet longer, just keep him from his so-called antics until you go to travel, if not longer,” Ellana explained, beginning the process of wrapping Jaskier’s torso with a thick wrap of linen. 

Jaskier tried to spit out the leather to mouth his own question, but the nurse flicked his good cheek when he did. _Damn it, woman, I’ve got my own problems!_ he thought, giving her a side-eyed glare. 

“I’m sure he’ll be smart about it. Thank you again, Ellana, for helping him,” Geralt said- Jaskier swore there was a small smile on the Witcher’s face, but he couldn’t see him from his current position. Probably for the best; personally, this was almost embarrassing. 

“Oh, please, Geralt, it’s not the first time I’ve helped a friend of yours. Probably not the last time, either,” Ellana concluded, tucking the final edge of the linen wrap into the rest of the cloth. “There, all done. Change the wrap every evening before he goes to bed- more often if he breaks into a sweat. Keep the leather bit, and you, mister, stay out of trouble.” The last bit was finally directed at Jaskier as the nurse freed the leather piece from his mouth. 

He spat out the chewed up mint leaves and tried to finally ask his question- alas, no words came, letting it fall on no ears at all. Jaskier watched as Ellana rolled her eyes and turned about to address Geralt, leaving Jaskier to his own devices. The bard gave a frustrated sigh and flopped back against the bed- at least it didn’t hurt so much to do so. Ellana left Geralt some supplies before finally leaving the room, closing the door behind her.

All was quiet after the nurse left. Jaskier was internally frustrated, his mind in a storm of anger and disappointment. Finding someone who could have aided him in his voiceless debacle isn't a chance he can run into often, and go figure that the one he got was wasted! He felt that at this rate, he would never speak again. 

"Jaskier." Geralt's voice cut through the silence like the Witcher's heavy sword. Jaskier looked over, having had to shift a bit in the bed to do so. "I… want to know if this help was acceptable."

Jaskier held his gaze for a moment, thinking hard. While he was frustrated about Ellana ignoring him, he had to admit that it was a whole lot better than being left to heal completely on his own. At least this way, he could have the blessed soothing balm. Sighing, Jaskier gave a nod, answering Geralt's question-but-not-question. 

"Hm." Geralt honestly expected the bard to go on a long tangent, perhaps even berate him for helping him out. Frankly, Geralt found that side of Jaskier oddly charming, perhaps amusing, when he knew full well that the bard has called for his aid numerous times before. Could it be that their talk after the dragon hunt had been the straw to break the mule's back and finally drive a wedge between Geralt and his-- the bard? Surely not- Jaskier isn't that petty or dramatic. 

"You should probably rest," Geralt advised as he retrieved his bed roll. He rolled it out next to the bed and sat down on it so as to remove his boots. As he tugged them off, he heard the fabric rustling, making his gaze flick up. 

Jaskier was carefully pulling up the covers to his chin, which gave the bard an almost childlike appearance. Jaskier caught Geralt's golden gaze and held it, his own baby blue orbs flitting about as he took in Geralt's features. Alas, as quickly as their eyes met, Jaskiers's gaze dipped away, the words 'thank you' mouthed clearly before the bard was lost amidst the covers. 

Geralt hummed, watching Jaskier's form for a bit before laying down himself on the bed roll. 

"Good night, Jaskier."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted this out sooner but then I picked up more hours at work. Oh well.
> 
> Hope y'all enjoy!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's go time. 
> 
> But also emotion time?

Days passed, which meant one thing to Jaskier: Geralt is going to want to leave. Probably without him, considering how they departed previously. While the bard's bruised ribs have healed and a second visit from Ellana the nurse confirming he was fit for light traveling, Jaskier could only think of what the best course of action would be. He debated on returning to helping the innkeeper, though with the group of men who haven't left the area hanging about, he had to abandon the idea. Which is a shame, he rather liked this inn. 

He also considered asking Geralt-- somehow-- to escort him to Yennefer or one of the other mages the Witcher knew. Perhaps they could help him with his voice. Well, maybe not Yennefer- he had to suppress a shiver as he recalled the crazy magic shenanigans that occurred when the whole djinn thing happened. _Crazy witch woman…Never did like her._

Regardless of what Jaskier would do, he was still fairly sure that he wouldn't be traveling with Geralt, at least not for very long. For now, it was just a waiting game for the moment where their Witcher would no doubt dismiss him from his company- probably in a rude, grumpy manner like last time. 

The bard's brooding was interrupted by a knock on the room's door. He looked up to it opening and the innkeeper poked her head in. 

"Ah, still here, lad? You better hurry, your friend is waiting downstairs with that horse of his."

Jaskier tilted his head, a confused look on his face. The innkeeper made a stroking motion towards her hair as she spoke, "The fellow with the long white hair?" 

Jaskier mouthed the word 'downstairs' at the woman. She nodded, giving a chuckle. 

"Of course he's downstairs, where else would he be? Can't bring a horse into the building, let alone up the stairs. Now get yer things, like a good lad. Don't worry 'bout the bed, I'll have one of the girls tidy it later." With that, the innkeeper dipped out the door but left it open for Jaskier. 

The bard blew a puff of air before he started gathering up his stuff. Not like he had much to pack: a change of clothes, his good smelling bath supplies, his composition book and inks, and of course his lute. All of them, save his lute, tucked away nicely in his travel bag. It made him realize how little he had. Well, how little he had to travel with. He had a bunch of belongings at the college for whenever he wished to visit. Still, it didn't dawn on him that he traveled so lightly. Could it be from his years traveling off and on with Geralt? 

\---

Geralt looked up to the sound of the inn’s main doors opening, expecting fully to see his bard standing there. The sun had just reached its quarter peak for the day, meaning it was midmorning and the Witcher was very much needing to get on his way. Alas, the inn’s doors only opened to reveal some unrelated party, a group of men who still reeked of last night’s liquor. Geralt watched them for a bit before dropping his gaze down to Roach’s saddle straps. 

Ever since he found Jaskier bloodied and bruised in his old rooms of this very room, unconscious and struggling to breathe from his injuries, Geralt could only feel a determined rage to find the ones who injured the bard. And he couldn’t really explain as to why he felt this way. When he last saw Jaskier, he wanted the man to shut the bloody hell up and leave him alone, because everything leading up to that moment seemed to be going to shit and Geralt had been in no mood at all to deal with Jaskier and his… well, everything.

What changed? Was it their time apart that quelled the White Wolf’s fury? Was it knowing that Ciri had been greatly worried about ‘his best friend’ and had talked to Geralt time and time again whilst they traveled to Yennefer’s? Was it seeing someone laying waste to what was his- _what he_ considered his friend?

When did he think of Jaskier as more than just a friend? Were they friends? 

The inn’s doors opened again, prying Geralt sharply from his thoughts as he looked up. At last, Jaskier was there. His bard. 

And empty-handed. Why was he empty-handed?

“Where are your things? We need to be off,” he inquired, raising a brow at the brunette.

Jaskier gestured back to the inn meekly, like a child being asked where they left their toy. He was avoiding Geralt’s gaze, his baby blue eyes always dancing back down to the ground if they even came close to meeting the Witcher’s own amber ones.

“Go get them,” instructed the Wolf, just to be met with a head shake. “Jaskier, why not?”

The bard bit his lip for a moment- Geralt couldn’t help how his stomach twinged just a bit as his mind registered the action and found it oddly charming- just to give a half turn and sidestep back towards the door. Jaskier didn’t make a full move to re-enter the inn, but clearly, he was showing his reluctance to leave.

“Jaskier, we need to be off. Look- hm… If it’s about last time. At the dragon’s... I’d like you to understand that I’ve let it go. What happened. So please, go get your things.”

The bard gave him a side glance, and a long one at that. He was biting his lip again, his blue eyes searching Geralt’s face for _something_ unbeknownst to the Witcher. It felt strange, in a nerve-wracking way, to stand before that searching blue gaze. Like Geralt was being studied, being read like a book in the most scrutinizing way possible. It almost made his skin crawl.

And then the moment was over- Jaskier bobbed his head and dipped back into the inn, presumably to fetch his traveling pack and lute. When the bard vanished from view, Geralt couldn’t help but release the smallest sigh of relief, one he didn’t realize he was holding.

\---

Silence was unbecoming of Jaskier, Geralt would come to understand after just a few hours into their travels. Their destination was yet to be determined, as Geralt was awaiting Yennefer to contact him with information pertaining to his Child of Surprise, Ciri. Something to do with that magical essence that resonated within the princess. It only meant that Geralt had time to kill, time he now wished to spend with the silent bard walking beside him and Roach. 

The Witcher expected Jaskier to say something, or perhaps idly play his lute, but the young man did neither. Was he still feeling off from his injuries, though they had since healed to the point of being negligible? Was he still upset with Geralt and his words from when they last traveled?

All these questions and more scrambled about the Witcher’s mind, and yet he could not bring himself to ask them. Either he was just being stubborn, fully intending to show the bard that he was fine in their silence, or he was too bothered to try and approach the topic. To be honest, his mind and heart kept bouncing between the two so quickly he was just unsure all together.

The only thing that assured the Witcher that Jaskier was still traveling with him was his footfalls and the occasional glance was thrown Geralt’s way. And by occasional, he meant very sparingly. It was like Jaskier was afraid to meet his gaze or even look in his general direction, except the White Wolf could not smell any fear coming from the bard. It was beginning to drive him nuts- perhaps he should nip it in the bud while it was at the forefront of his mind. 

Pulling at Roach’s reins, Geralt brought their pace to a halt. Jaskier continued for a few lengths before stopping and giving a half-turn towards the Witcher, a small frown on his face.

“Why do you keep looking at me like that?”

Jaskier only gave a shrug.

“Jaskier.”  
The bard’s frown deepened and he turned away, continuing down the path they were following. Geralt called his name twice more, a pregnant pause between each, before nudging Roach to catch up with the young man. When they did, Geralt dismounted in front of Jaskier and firmly stopped him by taking hold of his shoulder. 

“Jaskier, stop. Stop this… This is childish, even for you,” the Witcher growled, more out of frustration of the bard’s behavior than at the bard in general.

Again, Jaskier did not meet his gaze, his mouth dipped into a deep frown. His brows creased, but Geralt couldn’t tell if it was of guilt, anger, or…what, but it was bothering the Witcher greatly.

“Jas...Jaskier, talk to me.”

That was when the first sob hit the Wolf’s ears. When his bard crumpled slowly on himself despite Geralt’s hold on his shoulder, his knees hitting the ground. And it floored Geralt because he had no idea why Jaskier _was crying._

Any attempt to get the bard to settle down, to stop those tears were futile. The more Geralt tried to comfort the bard, the heavier Jaskier sobbed. So he stopped. Stopped trying to speak words of comfort, stopped trying to hush the bard’s cries, stopped trying to do anything to help, and just stayed there for Jaskier. He just held him, not too tight that it would hurt him again, but just enough that he could hold his bard through this spell of waterworks. Who cares if his tunic was being soaked with salty tears, who cares if there was probably snot on the leather chest piece, who cares if this was kind of inconvenient? None of it mattered, not right now.

Because all that mattered was that Jaskier was crying. And maybe that was what the bard needed right now.

Maybe.

Hopefully.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Perhaps Geralt isn't as emotionally constipated as I was expecting to make him out to be.  
> Or he's still is, but is at least wanting to think about why?
> 
> Also poor baby, Jaskier. He does a cry in front of Geralt. 
> 
> Seemed fitting??  
> I think in the next chapter, Jaskier is going to try and explain to Geralt what was going on and Geralt is... Well, going to do something, I'm not sure right now, haha.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The cat is out of the bad, but the cause is still unknown.  
> Does our Witcher like this version of Jaskier?
> 
> Or is something missing still?

The sun was setting dead overhead, marking the middle of the day, by the time that Geralt was able to soothe Jaskier. At least, he had a good enough conscience to assume he had soothed the poor bard. In truth, Jaskier had cried until he felt sick, tired, and had puffy red eyes that stung like a hot iron. The bard held onto Geralt's tunic well after his tears had ceased to flow; whether it was out of comfort or sheer fatigue, he couldn't tell, but the Witcher didn't seem to mind or at least object. 

Jaskier's stomach, however, did object with a very low, deep rumble. 

Silence followed for a few breaths. Only for another rumble to make itself known. 

Geralt cleared his throat, "We… Hm. We can set camp?" 

Jaskier gave a small nod, releasing Geralt’s tunic as he slid off the Witcher’s lap. Geralt gave him a thoughtful look before getting up and approaching Roach, who had been standing idly nearby, chomping away at some grass. The bard stared down at his hands through half lidded eyes, his shoulders slumping with how heavy they felt. 

Had he ever cried in front of Geralt before? He couldn’t recall if he had, so it was safe to assume that he hadn’t. Guess there was always a first for everything. It still didn’t help the sour feeling in his gut, like a heavy acidic stone was weighing him down without causing him any need to retch. Small blessings, he supposed.

Glancing over, Jaskier caught sight of Geralt looking at him over his shoulder, however, the Witcher quickly looked away. The action just made the heaviness in Jaskier sink further, weighing his whole being down. He felt tired.

Curling up wasn’t really an option, seeing how he was in the middle of the pathway and there was the possibility of some passerbyer coming through the area. Instead, the bard wrestled up the energy to get off the ground, his limbs feeling like lead as he moved. If they were going to set up camp, he may as well help in whatever way he could. 

Geralt’s footfalls broke the silence that hung heavily around them, the crunch of the forest’s leaves giving way as the White Wolf stepped off the path and headed into the brush. Jaskier followed after, leading Roach away from her patch of grass with only a bit of difficulty. Funny, how the bard knew the horse for as long as he did and she was still apprehensive about working with Jaskier. It was a pleasant constant, in the grand scheme of things. Geralt could change as much or little as he wishes, but Jaskier could count on Roach being a handful for anyone who wasn’t the Witcher.

“We’ll break our fast, since we left the inn before morning meals could be acquired,” said the White Wolf as he led the way into the trees, further from the path. “Then we’ll hit the road again.”

When Jaskier didn’t reply, Geralt had to look over his shoulder to make sure the bard was there, as well as heard him; which of course he did, giving the Witcher a solemn nod when their eyes met. Geralt could only respond with a thick hum, looking away after a moment to focus on where they were going.

\---

The campsite was maybe a hundred meters away from the forest path, accessible by means of a game trail that Jaskier was only aware of after a handful of meters. It was within a small clearing amidst a grove of elm trees, providing them shade as well as space to rest for a few and break their fast. Geralt was quick to get a tiny fire going while Jaskier pulled a couple of their rations out of a saddlebag hanging from Roach’s saddle. The horse was treated to a couple of carrots that Geralt always kept for the mare, while the Witcher and bard were to dine on some salted fish and bread. The fire Geralt made was to toast the bread and warm the fish, which wasn’t too bad if one ignores how neither had seasonings.

As the bread and fish were being warmed by the fire, Geralt looked at Jaskier for what must have been the twelfth time in a span of minutes, though no one was really counting. Each time just made Jaskier’s belly feel knotted up, which is something that can be considered a constant when they’re feeling uneasy.

“I… I’m under the impression that you’re reluctant to share something with me,” the Witcher said slowly, but not at all in an accusing way. 

Jaskier gave a little shrug, fidgeting a bit.

“Would… Would writing it out make you feel better? You won’t have to talk directly to me that way, in case you’re worried that you’ll be upset again.”

This made the bard pin the Witcher with a slightly annoyed look. Geralt almost assumed he crossed a line- except then Jaskier’s features softened. The next thing he knew, his bard was digging in his pack, pulling out his charcoal pencil and composition book- really it was just some scribbling pages held together by some chords, but the bard had called it as such before.

Jskier flipped to a blank page and quickly scribbled something down. Turning it over, he showed it to Geralt. _’Can you read?’_

“Of course I can. Witchers have to so they can read contracts or books and tomes pertaining to monsters they hunt.”

Jaskier looked like he was going to cry again. His shoulders visibly drooped, but not in a way that spoke of sadness. It was from relief. Quickly flipping the book around, Jaskier scribbled something before showing the book to Geralt once more: _’Thank the gods, I thought I wouldn’t be able to talk this way._ ’

“What do you mean by that?” asked Geralt, raising a brow at the bard.

Jaskier bit his lip, hesitating a bit. But still, he answered: _’I can’t use my voice. I can’t speak. Out loud.’_

“...Again?” Geralt was taken aback by that comment. He couldn’t see anything physically wrong around Jaskier’s neck or mouth, and he knew that the bard was fully capable of making a sound because of the crying from earlier- and some snoring from last night, but never mind that. It just didn’t seem plausible for the bard to be unable to speak. “Were you jinxed by another djinn or other creature?”

Jaskier gave a shrug before writing his reply, ‘ _I don’t know. I was able to talk about a month ago. Then I couldn’t anymore._ ’

“Have you been checked for any sickness?”

‘ _Yes but I’ve no symptoms. I’m healthy as far as any healers can tell._ ’

“Hm,” Geralted hummed. This was a bit beyond him. When Jaskier had first been mostly rendered mute by the djinn, the Witcher knew what was going on and was able to get everything taken care of thanks to that elf they contacted- and Yennefer. He suppose the sorceress could examine the bard, but to reach her estates would take at least a month if they couldn’t locate another mage. Thought, if they found another mage, Geralt supposed that would cut out the need to get to Yennefer. Plus, he wasn’t too sure if he wanted to bring Jaskier around Ciri if he couldn’t chat his head off with the young princess.

“I don’t suppose you’ve heard of any mages in the area while you were at that inn?”

Jaskier shook his head… but then made an ‘o’ face and quickly nodded. ‘ _Triss is in the area, actually. Well, was in the area._

“Where?”

 _’The city hall. Then she left for the next town. I only heard of her being around from the innkeeper._ ’

“Hmm…” Geralt gave the words scribbled on Jaskier’s paper a thoughtful look before looking away. There would be no telling which ‘next town’ the lady witch would be heading, or if she had portaled away by now. This just made things a bit harder. Maybe Yenn would be a better option, just as a last option they could go ahead and make their way to. But… a month of Jaskier being mute? Could Geralt live with that?

The Witcher was pulled from his thoughts from Jaskier shaking his shoulder and jabbing his finger at something. It took Geralt a moment to realize their food was on fire.

“Fuck!”

\---

The fish was only half burned, but the bread was a lost cause. The two ate in silence, picking around the charred pieces of their meal as they took a break from communicating with Jaskier’s composition book. Geralt could immediately tell that the bard was in better spirits, since he knew that Geralt could in fact read. It slowly dawned on the Witcher that the bard probably had to struggle with communication, as he was aware that there were only a handful of people in each town- if not less- that could read. He could scarce imagine being in the bard’s predicament, but was thankful that he could try and help Jaskier nonetheless.

The question remained as to how Geralt would help the poor bard. The idea of heading to Yennefer’s was beginning to sound the best, but with the possibility of Triss just being a couple of miles from them instead of hundreds of them weighed heavily on Geralt. 

“We have two options,” the Witcher said, breaking the silence between him and the bard. Jaskier looked up, a thumb in his mouth which he was sucking fishy flavorings from- Geralt didn’t mind. “We can continue down the path, in case Triss is in the town we’re heading towards. Or we can go with an alternative route to find magical help.”

Jaskier set his food down on the rock beside him- good thing they both had wooden plates they traveled with to eat their meals on instead of having to rely on bark or flat rocks. Imagine setting your food down and it getting covered in dirt or leaves. Anyways, the bard wiped his hands off on his breeches and picked up his book to write a reply: ‘ _What’s the alternative?_

“We go to Yenn-” Geralt didn’t even get to finish his sentence before Jaskier was flipping him off with a big, angry frown. Rude. “Triss, then.”

 _’Don’t give me that look. You know I don’t like her, and she hates me. She’d rather poison me than help me._ ’

“She has helped you,” Geralt said pointedly.

 _’No, she helped you, Mr. Sex-For-Days Witcher._ ’

“That doesn’t even make sense, and we only fucked once.”

Jaskier rolled his eyes, the universal sign of ‘whatever.’ 

“Jaskier, that’s rather childish of you,” Geralt said, a bit of a smile edging at his lips. He couldn’t help but chuckle when the bard flipped him off again. 

Maybe he could survive being with a mute Jaskier after all-

That notion was quickly stopped when the bard decided to close his book and use it to hit the Witcher on the arm with it. Hard.

 _Yeah, no. I prefer him talking._ Geralt thought with a scowl.

\---

They set off soon after they finished their meal, coming to an agreement that Jaskier would have to carry his book out in the open so he could answer any of Geralt’s questions. There wasn’t a guarantee the Witcher would have any, but the bard was happy enough to oblique since it meant he had some way to communicate once again. 

Silence seemed to build around them for a good while, maybe an hour or so, before Geralt caught himself looking at Jaskier’s lute anytime the bard happened to walk close to Roach’s front. The instrument was still hanging off the bard’s back, which was fine, but made Geralt wonder why Jaskier hadn’t played it since the two had become traveling companions yet again.

It wouldn’t be for another hour until the White Wolf would finally ask the bard about it.

 _’I thought you’d appreciate me not playing it._ ’

“Probably, but it’s still what you do,” Geralt countered after reading the bard’s answer. Was that even really an answer, or some kind of excuse for one?

Jaskier gave him a confused look for a good long minute before scribbling: _’Are you wanting me to play?_ ’

“I- Hm.” Did the Witcher want him to, or was he content with the silence they’ve established since that morning? Thinking on it, he did kind of miss hearing the bard’s lute playing, even if he would often play some ‘oldies but goodies’ the bard knew all too well. If you can call tolerating a form of missing. “It… Would not be so bad. Every now and then.”

Jaskier gave a smile- it was a sad and small one, but a smile nonetheless. _’Would you like me to play now?’_ he asked, underlining the word ‘now.’

“I...Hm. Yes?”

Seeing the bard’s smile turn from sad to that of a happy, but also thankful variety made the Witcher’s heart swell just a little. Hearing the familiar ‘Toss a Coin’ strumming made it swell more. 

_Dear gods, did I miss his music or him?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So nice to have Geralt know that Jaskier can't talk. I don't think I could have stood for another chapter where our bard's situation was unknown to our Witcher.
> 
> And what's this? Another chapter so soon? I must be on a roll.
> 
> Also, thank you for leaving kudos and comments- they make me so happy and I hope I am making you happy as well with these chapters.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trouble along the way to the town~  
> Oh, the horror!

The town was going to take longer to reach, most likely leaving them unable to reach it until almost nightfall. It wasn’t really from mere distance from the previous town, or from their impromptu lunch stop, but rather from the fact that there was a raging river that interrupted their venture. How, you ask?

Well, the bridge was out, so they had to go up-river until they could find a crossing point. Just as they found one about three miles from where the bridge used to be, they were accosted by a drowner. Interesting, that encounter.

The plan of action was for Geralt and Roach to go across the relatively calm water, pulling across a rope to tie up on the other side so that when Jaskier crossed, he could keep his lute and composition book dry via zipline. It seemed doable enough to Geralt and Jaskier… But Roach wouldn’t get near the water. 

Jaskier pulled at the mare’s halter, trying to get her to budge from where she stubbornly stood a few yards from the river’s edge. His boots dug furrows into the ground as he pulled, but that horse was not having it. Roach shook her head hard enough to send Jaskier toppling over onto the ground; the bard would have shouted if he could. Instead, he could only grind his teeth in annoyance and spit out some dirty while he picked himself off the ground. 

Geralt stood quietly at the river’s edge, inspecting the water with a stern look and keen eye. He knew Roach wouldn’t go where she felt endangered, so clearly the river held something dangerous in it. The question at the time was _what?_ Kneeling, he plucked up a rock, bouncing it lightly in his hand. Scanning for some ripples or any disturbances in the water aside from the current, he carefully rose to stand once more. 

No ripples stirred, save for one caused by a turtle sliding into the water from a nearby bank. Nor did any bubbles rise.

The Witcher eyed the river, thinking hard of what the waters could harbor that could be remotely dangerous. _Could be river snakes… Doubt Roach would be phased by those._

Water hags also seemed an unlikely option, as the environment didn’t seem right. Kikimoras crossed his mind, but there weren’t any tell-tale signs of the beasts. The possible reasonings for causing his horse panic were getting thinner and thinner, but he still couldn’t put his thumb on it. 

Jaskier came up beside him, shoulders slumped in defeat. The bard had given up on trying to coax Geralt’s horse, as his clothes were very stained from dirt and muck to show for his efforts. Geralt looked at the bard briefly before considering the river again- only to regard the bard again. Something was off…

When Jaskier met his gaze, he could only raise his eye in questioning concern. Since his book was packed away for the river crossing, he couldn’t directly ask the Witcher what was up, nor really comment on their current situation. Geralt didn’t seem to be paying his facial expression any mind, looking at his clothing. The bard looked down but could only see dirt stains from his tumble in the dirt. _Is he judging my clothes?_

Geralt reached out, his strong hands ghosting the cloth along Jaskier’s chest. The bard began to get flustered, looking away from the Witcher’s hand; Geralt’s other hand was suddenly gripping his shoulder to keep him from moving away. Jaskier swallowed thickly, keeping his eyes away from the Witcher as he moved his hand slowly along the fabric of Jaskier’s doublet- just to pull his hand away, a trail of some sort of mucus pulling away from the bard’s top.

“Hm.” 

Jaskier looked at Geralt when he made his apparent catchphrase, noticing the slimy substance on his fingers.The bard’s grimace would be priceless for a different crowd.

“We should be careful. Limited amount of beasts near waterways that could leave this,” said the Witcher, releasing Jaskier’s shoulder to once again regard the river. Just as Geralt turned, he caught sight of something ducking back into the river about midway. It was too quick to catch any features, but it was bigger than your standard fish or turtle. Winding up his arm, he let loose the rock he still held. It shot into the water just in front of the spot he saw the creature duck down at- a second splash came up after the rock disappeared under the river’s surface. “Looks like we’re being watched.”

Jaskier looked from the splash zone to Geralt, and back to the water. He wondered what Geralt had seen, having had missed what the Witcher saw.

Geralt gestured for Jaskier to retreat from the river’s edge, drawing his sword as he began to approach the water. The river lapped around Geralt’s ankles, water immediately soaking into his boots from the current being disrupted. The bard watched on as Geralt waded further into the river, stopping when the water reached about knee-high. 

_Is it really a good idea for him to be doing that?_ Jaskier wondered, absently shuffling closer to the water as he watched Geralt. For anyone else, what the Witcher was doing was probably a sure-fire way to get hurt, if not killed, by anything that may be lurking below the water’s surface. But because it was Geralt, Jaskier could only imagine that this was just a fun- or maybe not fun- exercise for the Witcher. _He’s probably fought loads of things in rivers or what have you._

Bubbles trailed along the rivers current, washing past the Witcher and bard. Geralt regarded them for a moment but refocused on the spot he had thrown the rock at. If something was in the water, he reckoned it would come after him. Usually, that was the case, seeing how he had a sword and all.

Splashing up river caught both of their attention- Roach was crossing the river along a set of rocks that travelers or even game animals probably used to cross. Jaskier gave little clap, because how else is he to emote his relief that the horse finally decided to cross the water; that, and it looked to him like they now had an easier way to get through.

Except Geralt knew Roach better- the horse wasn’t crossing because she felt safe. She was crossing to cut off the creature’s escape route. “Jaskier, hold up.”

The bard was already walking towards the rocks upstream, only pausing to turn to look at Geralt. His turn wasn’t well maneuvered, the bard’s footing becoming unbalanced on the wet shore, resulting in Jaskier stumbling a bit.

It must have been a distraction the creature was waiting for, as it suddenly lunged from the water to tackle the Witcher from behind. Geralt swore as cold, blue-green clammy arms wrapped around his waist and began to try to pull him further into the water. He swung his sword to swipe at the beast, making it let go with a gurgling hiss and a bunch of splashing.

Backing out of the water a bit, the Witcher looked for the menace that tried to accost him- but the water was just as it was before, save for a few swaths of bubbles and foam. 

Roach whinnied loudly across the river, getting Geralt’s attention. When he looked up, he saw the horse pawing pointedly with one leg in the direction where Jaskier was. Spinning around, Geralt steeled himself to shout a warning to the bard as well as face their attacker-

Jaskier was nowhere to be seen.

“Jaskier!” shouted Geralt, a wave of alarm washing through him as his focus turned from looking for foe to looking for the bard. Turned up gravel where the bard had been was all he could see- he didn’t see the blue doublet that Jaskier had been wearing retreating anywhere. His lute and book were dropped from when he stumbled just a moment afore, but the bard was gone. Vanished.

No, not vanished. Pulled into the river!

Geralt sheathed his sword and waded back into the current, finding that the water got deeper towards the middle of the river. Bubbles erupted just in front of him and he dived in. Murky blackness darkened his vision, only reeds whipping around in the river’s flow being clear enough to see. He pressed forward- a flash of blue-green skin out of the corner of his eye was the only warning he got before he was swarmed.

\---

Time sped up, or maybe it slowed down. Was it always so dark and cold?

_Geralt would know…_

His chest hurt. His lungs, they burned for some reason.

_I can’t breathe…_

Jaskier opened his mouth, hoping to take in a deep breath of air. Only coldness washed in, tasting of mud and silt. He could feel it seeping into him, pushing out what air he had.

_I’m going to drown._

Flickering lights danced in his eyes, like fireflies in the summer night. The tightness in his chest kept moving, bringing ebbing waves of discomfort and pain with it. His shoulder felt like it was being pulled from its socket. Something caressed his cheeks like feathers, but more solid and slick. Fire bloomed in his chest, his shoulder, his head-

The dark was so cold, even when lights tried to breach its surface.

_Geralt…_

\---

The drowner wasn’t alone, which wasn’t uncommon but still just as annoying, Geralt grimaced under the water as its buddy bared fangs at him, its arms snaking around Jaskier’s chest and neck. The bard’s eyes fluttered before he presumably lost consciousness. All the same, the beasts had to be dealt with if Geralt were to save his bard.

Breaching the surface for a moment to get a breath of air, Geralt surged back under, kicking towards the two drowners. One swum at him- he awarded it with a silver knife to the gut when it reached him, the beast shrieking loudly despite being underwater. It fled swiftly downriver when Geralt yanked the knife free. Its friend that clung to Jaskier swiped at Geralt when he tried to get close, its claws not only gliding through the water with ease but also digging into the bard’s skin where the beast held onto him. Geralt surfaced again just to dive at the beast once more.

They tussled, the drowner still holding onto the bard as it snapped its foul teeth at Geralt. Yet it evaded the Witcher and his knife, ducking its face out of range by using Jaskier as a meat shield. Geralt grimaced before finally grabbing hold of the bard’s arm and pulled; seeing bubbles erupt from the bard’s mouth told him that Jaskier was still alive, if for the moment. He pulled again until he could grasp the drowner itself, the beast instantly latching onto him and trying to bite into his arms. Big mistake for the creature, as Geralt shoved his knife home through its skull when it got too close. The drowner gurgled, its foul blood seeping from its mouth before it went limp in the water, letting go of Jaskier. Geralt grabbed the bard and pulled him to the surface, sucking in a breath of air himself with a sputter. 

Roach whinnied when her friend surfaced, rearing up a bit. Geralt helped Jaskier’s limp form stay afloat as he swum them across. When he was in shallow enough water, he finally stopped, pulling the bard up so he could check to see if he was breathing, let alone alive.

Jaskier’s heart was beating still, but faintly and growing fainter by the moment. Geralt hurried to get his bard to shore, a feeling of desperation washing over him. As soon as he got Jaskier to dry land, he gave him a heavy shake to try and rouse him. “Jaskier! Jaskier!”

When the bard didn’t respond, Geralt laid him flat on his back, swearing under his breath. Tilting Jaskier’s head back with his chin up, he waited for a moment for the bard’s body to register that he needed to start breathing _now._ He bent over, placing his ear above Jaskier’s mouth to listen for any signs of breathing. When _that_ didn’t happen, Geralt swore again and opened Jaskier’s mouth carefully. Pinching his nose, Geralt took a breath then sealed his mouth over Jaskier’s, breathing into him. He did this twice more before the bard lurched suddenly, making Geralt lean back when Jaskier started to sputter; he rolled the bard onto his side so he could cough up the water that had been trapped in his lungs. 

Relief washed over the Witcher, even if he was still swearing and also patting the bard’s back to encourage water to vacate his lungs. To think his bard almost drowned! Well, it was a drowner attack, kind of goes hand in hand, but this was _his_ bard!

“Jas...Jaskier, are you alright?” Geralt asked when Jaskier’s coughing lessened.

The bard’s mouth moved, but no sound came aside from another cough. Geralt frowned until Jaskier rolled to face him, giving a tiny nod. He looked like a drowned puppy. 

_’Thank...you._ ’ Jaskier mouthed. Geralt’s heart skipped for a moment.

“Thank the gods,” was all the Witcher could say as he bowed his head, resting it on Jaskier’s chest. Just so he could hear him breathe, to hear his bards heart return to normal, if not a bit rushed from his violent coughing. It was fine. He was alive. Everything was fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How many of you are mad at me for doing this to Jaskier?
> 
> How many are going to remind me of his lute and book, haha

**Author's Note:**

> I was inspired by A-Kind-Of-Merry-War's post about Jaskier trading his voice to save Geralt. Also angst in general.


End file.
